


SHERLOCK the Finder

by karadin



Series: SHERLOCK the Finder [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Canon Crossover, Crossover, Gen, Humour, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karadin/pseuds/karadin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins reveals the true reason why he found the race of Elves so compelling, due to his meeting with one Elf in particular.</p><p><i>"Now I told you I had to do a bit of burglary while I lived in the ElvenKing's hall, I never took more than I absolutely needed to survive, but as you know, a Hobbit needs his six square meals a day!</i></p><p><i>I was very careful never to take from the same storehouse or kitchen, I prided myself on my stealth, but I suppose I wasn't too clever, because my thieving was noticed and the Master of the King's Household went to Sherlock the Finder to discover who the burglar was."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The Lonely Mountain - a great dwarf Kingdom that fell to the dragon Smaug in the Third Age.
> 
> Great Smials - Hobbits build some of their houses into hillsides, and some can be very large, the greatest of these is in Tookland.
> 
> The Last Homely House (Rivendell or Imladris) - the House of Elrond, who assisted Thorin and his companions on their Quest for the Lonely Mountain.
> 
> Caras Galadhon - the 'capitol' of the Elf Kingdom of Lothlorien
> 
> Nargothrond - a great city of the Elves destroyed by the dragon Glaurung in the First Age.
> 
> Finrod - Elf King, who discovered the race of Men in the First Age.
> 
> The Undying Lands (Valinor) - a home for the Valar, great spiritual beings who created Middle Earth.
> 
> Dark Elves - The Valar first created the Elves, and fearing for their safety in Middle Earth, brought many of them away to their home in Valinor, the Elves who remained in Middle Earth were called Avari 'The Unwilling' Sherlock is one of these Dark Elves.
> 
> The High Elves are those who went to Valinor, some of whom returned to Middle Earth in the First Age.

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/karadin/pic/0030wq7g/)

**Sherlock The Finder Author Karadin** PART ONE OF THREE  
Fandom: SHERLOCK(BBC)/The Hobbit/Tolkien other works  
Main Characters: Sherlock (an Elf of Mirkwood) Mycroft (his brother) Bilbo(John)Baggins, Frodo Baggins. (features more characters from Sherlock BBC)  
Rating: Gen  
Genre: adventure, mystery, humour  
Warnings: some descriptions of violence, dwarf abuse, large spiders  
 _Sherlock Holmes created by Arthur Conan Doyle  
Sherlock (BBC 2010) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss  
The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien_  
This is a work of fiction, a parody; no remuneration is taken by the author.  
Illustrations copyright Karadin 2011 all rights reserved.

 **Synopsis: Bilbo Baggins reveals the true reason why he found the race of Elves so compelling, due to his meeting with one Elf in particular.**  
*spoilers for _The Hobbit_ *

**revised**

 

 _Unsent Letters from Tol Eressa, by Frodo Baggins_

Some time before the events of the _War of the Ring_ when I was still a young lad in my tweens, my cousin Bilbo Baggins adopted me as his heir, much to the ire of our relations.

At first I thought my 'Uncle' had adopted me for the sole purpose of doing the Sackville-Bagginses out of the inheritance of the mansion of Bag-End, but I was soon to discover - to my delight - that Bilbo saw in my inquisitive nature and desire for adventure a kindred spirit. So he said, I was his true heir, a notion which has given me more pride than any of the achievements of my life.

It wasn't long after my adoption and removal from Buckland to Hobbiton that Bilbo regaled me with tales of his youth, when he had run out of his front door - without a pocket handkerchief - after twelve dwarves and a Wizard to a Lonely Mountain filled with gold.

That story has been related by Bilbo quite well in _There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale_ yet of necessity he had to leave many stories untold, but he has shared them with me, and now I will do my best to relate them to you.

These tales may seem fanciful, even absurd, and some of the characters quite remarkable, but upon my honour they are true and I hope you dear reader, find within these stories of adventure the most wonderful friendship between two races, in this case, Elf and Hobbit.

***

You may recall that during his adventure with the redoubtable Thorin Oakenshield and his eleven companions, Bilbo Baggins was employed as a thief. My Uncle was at pains to remark that this was due to false advertising on the part of the Wizard Gandalf.

(I smiled as I sipped my tea, seated in a comfortable chair before the fire in Bag End, because Bilbo still complained these many years later about the dent in the front door.)

After Bilbo and the Company of Dwarves had escaped from the Goblins who had trapped them deep within the Misty Mountains - where incidentally Bilbo had found a magic golden ring - the Hobbit, the Dwarves and a Wizard had found themselves on the edges of Mirkwood, a vast forest, the largest in Middle Earth.

The trees were among the tallest Bilbo had ever seen, with great gnarled trunks, but the forest was gloomy and the shadows beneath the dark leaves made the heart of this stout Hobbit quail. And Gandalf was leaving them, travelling South on other business.

He admonished Thorin and Company to stay on the path through Mirkwood and not to stray from it, or else they might never find their way out again. Bilbo was very sorry to see the Wizard go, but there was nothing to be done but shoulder his pack and carry on, so to speak.

For days the Company made their way through the dark forest, after a time their provisions ran low, they dare not try to eat the animals who lived in Mirkwood (a squirrel they had shot down from a branch with an arrow tasted horrible) nor drink the dark water in pools and streams as it would send them into a deep sleep. (As the Dwarf Bombur discovered to his peril.)

Now the Elves who lived in Mirkwood were called Dark Elves, not due in any way to their colouring, (their hair tended to be black and glossy as a fine ink) but for the fact that they had not made the journey to the Undying Lands in the West and had never seen the Light of Two Trees.

These Elves were not nearly as friendly as those in the Last Homely House who had helped the Company, (at the request of Gandalf.) The Dwarves did not take kindly to Elves of any sort and though some were spied amongst the trees, the Company were determined to keep clear of them.

But at last, hunger and thirst compelled the Dwarves follow the campfires of the Elves deep into the forest, away from the path, despite the protestations of my Uncle. Bilbo has related how the Dwarves tried many times to approach the Elves as they heard the sounds of merry making, the scents of meat and mead and smoke mingling in the air, and how each time a Dwarf stepped into the circle where the Elves feasted the fires went out and the Fair Folk disappeared.

Utterly lost in the darkness of Mirkwood, the Dwarves were captured by Giant Spiders and it fell to Bilbo to rescue his companions. He put the gold ring on his finger - which made him _invisible_ \- took out his short Elvish sword and proceeded to sting the Giant Spiders, a dozen or more! And then he cut the Dwarves from the silk they had been bound in and slapped their cheeks to rouse them.

To this day Bilbo acts as if this were no mean feat! (I recall my own meeting with a single of these Great Spiders and tremble in terror at the memory.)

When the Hobbit had rescued all of the Dwarves they found their leader, Thorin Oakenshield, was missing.

Thorin's fate became clear when the Dwarves were captured by the Elves, who surrounded them in a ring of spears and bound each Dwarf with rope in a long line, one after the other. Bilbo had slipped on his ring during the attack and stepped back into the brush.

So it was that when the Elves took their captives to the Great Hall of the ElvenKing, the Hobbit was not discovered.

The Great Hall was carved into the side of a large hill, unlike the damp and dark tunnels carven by Goblins and Trolls, these halls were lighted by lamps made of alabaster and clean air was vented in from hidden ductwork. From the Hall branched off antechambers, apartments and rooms, rather like the warren of Great Smials in the Shire, but on a much grander scale, course!

Bilbo would have stood in awe, crooking his neck to study the tall columns fashioned in the shapes of trees, hewn from the living rock with veins of crystal running through them, yet he could not stop to view these wonders as the Dwarves were led before the King.

As we have noted, there was no love lost between Dwarves and Elves, due to an enmity between their peoples ages before, and the grudge kept either side from conversing in a sensible manner. Bilbo saw his friends accused of trespassing and each Dwarf was thrown into a separate cell.

My Uncle despaired; he dare not make his presence known to the Elves, all he could do was wait for the moment the Dwarves would be freed (he hoped that Gandalf might come to see what had become of the Company) and he doubted that he would be able to rescue his friends on his own.

So he spent his time wandering the corridors and halls and watched the Elves. Despite his circumstances, he found himself drawn to these beings who were tall and fair, with leaves twined in their hair and musical voices. He endeavored to learn some of their speech and tried as best he might to decipher the writings he found carved on walls and written in scrolls and books.

When he could, Bilbo would also visit his friends, whispering words of comfort to them and slipping them bits of meat or cheese to supplement their plain diets.

But Bilbo never imagined, invisible as he was, and as quiet as a Hobbit could be, that anyone would discover him lurking in the Halls of the ElvenKing.

 

***

 

Even among a host of Elves, Bilbo said, there was one who stood out, an Elf a bit taller than most, his skin seemed a touch paler, his eyes sharper and brighter and most remarkable of all, he was an Elf with curling hair.

(When he saw my shrug of nonchalance, my Uncle laughed.)

'You don't understand, my dear! Elves _don't have curling hair_ , as bouncy and bright as a hobbitlass in springtime, or at least, they don't leave it untamed as this Elf did. I would have noticed Sherlock at any rate for his remarkable brain, but being a Hobbit, it was his hair that caught my attention.

(My Uncle's gaze went distant and his face softened with fondness, I had to break his reverie so that he might continue the story.)

Yes, Sherlock was his name. When I first heard it I thought 'Sure Lock' and tried to puzzle it out in our native language, but Sherlock did not have his name for keeping secrets, he ferreted them out everywhere - that was his work - to Find Things and Find Things Out.

From my hiding places I had watched this remarkable Elf and his interactions among his fellows. He was always dressed in black, so he cut quite a figure amongst the other Elves in their greens and browns and reds, for Elves garb themselves according to the seasons and it was autumn then.

Sherlock kept to himself, which is also unlike his kind. Elves can be quite Hobbity in their pleasure for social activity, feasting, dancing, singing together, but Sherlock kept to his rooms and his neighbors complained about the fumes that issued from under the door when he was experimenting with this or that _and_ the fact that he played a fiddle in the middle of the night.

(When my eyebrows rose at this my Uncle clapped his hands.)

Yes, a fiddle! Not a harp, or a flute or a lute as common among Elvish instruments, but a fiddle made of wood, such as a Hobbit or a Man might play. I admit to times I would set myself - always invisible mind you - outside his door of a night and the music he made would be both a balm and a heartache, as it made me homesick.

"When you say He Found Things Out what do you mean?" I asked.

"Oh," Uncle laughed, which made his cheeks pink and his eyes glow brighter, "Sherlock was smarter than anyone! He could look right at you and know where you'd been, what you'd done that day, even to what you had for breakfast!"

"Did he know some sort of magic? Was there ever an Elf who was a Wizard too?"

"Well Wizards aren't Elves and Elves aren't Wizards, though I think there is some kinship there," Bilbo shook his head. "What Sherlock did was _look_ and not just look, but _observe_. It was how he found me out, even if the ring made me invisible.

Now I told you I had to do a bit of burglary while I lived in the ElvenKing's hall, I never took more than I absolutely needed to survive, but as you know, a Hobbit needs his six square meals a day!

I was very careful never to take from the same storehouse or kitchen, I prided myself on my stealth, but I suppose I wasn't too clever, because my thieving was noticed and the Master of the King's Household went to Sherlock the Finder to discover who the burglar was.

I'll admit it was amusing to watch this tall Elf darting about the storehouse with his eye to a round glass which he wore on a silver chain, muttering to himself as he paced back and forth, touching this article or that, at one point even throwing himself on the stone floor to spy at something!

Then Sherlock stood up and dusted himself off, turning smartly to address the Master of the Household.

"Your thief is a Man or something like a Man."

Both myself and the Master, who was named Lestrade, gasped.

'You must be joking," Lestrade said, while I covered my mouth with my hand.

"Indeed not," Sherlock replied, "if you look here in the corner which wasn't swept properly, the burglar left a footprint in the dust, quite wider than an Elvish foot, or even a Dwarf's - their toes become pointed because of the boots they wear - this imprint is most like a Man's foot."

Part of me was terrified at being discovered, yet I was still curious enough to inch forward as Lestrade went over to look at my footprint.

"And how would you know what a Man's foot looked like?" This was the question from the Mistress of the Kitchen, a lovely woman of willowy grace, yet her arms were as strong as any Hobbitwife and her pretty features were twisted in an expression of disdain. Though there was no likeness, she reminded me of an acquaintance of my youth, so in my mind, I called her Sally.

Sherlock sighed. "The Household of Finrod in Nargothrond did have some Men who were attached to it, while there I made some comparative studies. If you should like to view my findings, some of my works are included in the Libraries of Imladris and of Caras Galadhon."

Sally huffed. "Don't think you impress anyone with your talk of High Elves, you're just the same as us, despite your clothes and your posh accent. Men indeed! Who would dirty themselves with the likes of them, hardly better than Dwarves."

Lestrade shook his head. "Enough bickering, the pair of you. Now, Sherlock, what else have you got for me?"

The Finder rubbed his hands together, placing them at his lips in what I came to know as his 'thinking pose.'

"While his feet are quite large, your thief is short of stature. Most of the foodstuffs taken are from the tables and lower shelves. When he did take something off of a higher shelf he used a step ladder to do so. Note the marks here."

I maneuvered myself as silently as I could around Lestrade and Sally to see where Sherlock pointed.

"Amazing," I thought.

"It's one of them Dwarves!" Sally exclaimed.

"Each Dwarf brought to the Great Hall is accounted for, each Dwarf has two guards, more surveillance than necessary, but it gives the Imperial Guard a way to feel important," Sherlock replied.

Lestrade scratched his head in consternation, which moved his diadem a bit to the left; most of the Elves wore them, but not Sherlock. It would not be seen in his thick curls at any rate.

"Could there be a Dwarf that was missed?"

Sally threw her hands up with a shriek. "A Dwarf, running loose in the Hall!"

Sherlock scowled, "I told you, _that is not the footprint of a Dwarf!_ Yes, there is some intruder currently loose in the Hall, but it's something else entirely."

Sally turned on her heel and ran from the room, doubtless to raise the alarm.

"That's torn it," Lestrade sighed, "I'd best get the Imperial Guard, check everywhere the intruder might be hiding."

Sherlock's hands curled into fists. "That would be the _best_ way to drive the thief into hiding!"

"That's out of my hands now," the Master of the Household said. "Thanks for your help." He gave the Finder a short bow before leaving the room.

Sherlock turned his back to me, gripping the sides of a large table, and I thought now would be my moment to sneak out of the Kitchen, but I had no idea where I would go to. I just stood, watching the tall Elf as he turned around once more, glancing to the open doorway before looking straight at me.

"You said 'Amazing.'"

I probably had the most astonished expression on my face - and I was glad of the fact no one could see it - but I daren't make a sound.

"I want to know who you are. I want to know if I am right," Sherlock said.

I moved slightly and when his eyes did not follow I knew he could not see me. I considered making a run for it and poised myself on my toes.

Sherlock clasped his hands together. "It's been so long since something _interesting_ has happened. You could trust me with your secret."

"Could I?"

I was amazed to hear the rough sound of my own voice, spoken in the open air.

Sherlock turned toward me, his grey eyes alight. "Yes."

"I've been here for awhile, watching," I said, taking the time to step around him. "I know what they say about you, Sherlock the Finder. You are selfish and unkind, brilliant and reckless, in many ways a dangerous individual. You have no friends, it seems."

"I am surrounded by small minds," Sherlock replied, with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "When I was born, long ago, our race was inquisitive, we sought knowledge, we woke the trees with our voices, but our race has diminished, drawing back into shadows and memory .... your voice has an accent that I've not heard before, you come from West of the Misty Mountains? How far?"

"What would you say if I told you I came here with the intent to harm your Kingdom? Your King?"

"I wouldn't be bored."

This was said with such wistful yearning I couldn't help but laugh.

"You really are a piece of work, aren't you?"

I had spent so much time being invisible, despairing and lonely, I was weary of hiding.

"Show me who you are," Sherlock asked, his lips curling at the edges like a bit of burning paper.

So, against all common sense, I took off my ring.

 

 

TBC


	2. Two

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/karadin/pic/0030wq7g/)  
(click for large image)

 **Sherlock The Finder** Author Karadin PART TWO  
Fandom: SHERLOCK(BBC)/The Hobbit/Tolkien other works  
Main Characters: Sherlock (an Elf of Mirkwood) Mycroft (his brother) Bilbo(John)Baggins, Frodo Baggins. (features more characters from Sherlock BBC)  
Rating: Gen  
Genre: adventure, mystery, humour  
Warnings: some descriptions of violence, dwarf abuse, large spiders  
 _Sherlock Holmes created by Arthur Conan Doyle  
Sherlock (BBC 2010) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss  
The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien_  
This is a work of fiction, a parody; no remuneration is taken by the author.  
Illustrations copyright Karadin 2011 all rights reserved.

 **Synopsis: Bilbo Baggins reveals the true reason why he found the race of Elves so compelling, due to his meeting with one Elf in particular.**  
*spoilers for The Hobbit*

 

***

I'll admit I was nervous when I took off the ring to reveal myself to the Elf named Sherlock, recalling that the buttons of my weskit had been torn off in my escape from the Goblin caves and that my recent battle with the Giant Spiders left my jacket in tatters; every bit of clothing I wore that was not torn was filthy.

Suffice it to say, I was not an inspiring sight.

Yet Sherlock's eyes grew wide and his lips went round in a perfect 'O'. In fact 'Oh' was the sound that came out of his mouth, just before he said, in a low, almost reverent tone,

 _"What are you!"_

(And the fact he sounded so certain prevents me from adding the question mark.) The Elf reached out his long arms as if to grasp me and I took a step backward.

"Let's have no Hobbit-handling just yet!"

"What is a Hobbit?" Sherlock asked, allowing his arms to drop to his sides and straightening his back.

I found myself having to crick my neck to look up at him, the resulting irritation distracting me from my nervousness.

"I am a Hobbit. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, at your service."

I gave a bow for the sake of good manners. The tall Elf merely waved this aside with a gesture of his pale long fingers.

"Yes, yes, but are you a type of Man? The result of cross-breeding? But with what? I need to study you."

"I don't know half of what you are saying," said I, "but none of it sounds like a compliment." I stepped back once more. "What are you doing with that?"

While I had been speaking Sherlock pulled a reel of tape from a pocket and held this out towards me.

"I'm just going to take a few measurements."

"Don't you think we might go somewhere _less public_ for this?" I hissed; afraid Sally or Lestrade might walk in any moment, though I did realize my only hope to remain hidden rested with my ability to engage Sherlock's scholarly interest.

The Finder snapped the end of his measuring tape so it returned to the round case clasped in his hand.

"Good point. Put on your magic ring and follow me to my chambers. You know where my rooms are, but I'll take us by the most direct route."

"Wait!" I gasped, moving to catch the edge of his outer robe. "What do you mean, magic ring? How could you possibly know I'd been near your rooms?"

Sherlock bestowed a bright smile upon me, lighting his grey eyes and softening the sharp planes of his face.

"As soon as you appeared you were moving your hands. Upon your right hand there is the indentation where a ring has been, your skin is pink, so you removed it recently. It is commonly known by those who have made a study of Objects of Power, that a method of becoming invisible is the use of an enchanted ring or a cloak. So far, so obvious."

"Astounding!" I said. "How did you deduce I had been outside your room?"

"At times when I was playing my fiddle I thought I could hear someone humming along, if not quite in tune, an Elf's ears are quite sensitive and mine more than most. There were also slight damp stains upon the wall outside my door indicating where your head touched it."

"Remarkable, quite remarkable!" I said.

Sherlock lifted his arm with a wry smile, so I would notice how I still clung to him and I snatched back my hand, feeling my face burn with embarrassment.

Yet the Elf was nonplussed. "Follow me!"

I had to jog to keep up with Sherlock's long strides, his outer robe sweeping behind him like the wings of a Great Eagle, down the narrow passage through a larger hallway then down another tunnel and every Elf we encountered was quick to scramble out of the Finder's path.

 

***

As exhilarating as I had found the brisk walk to be - after creeping about the Great Hall for over a week - as I reached the Finder's chambers my limbs were trembling with exhaustion. Sherlock opened the many locks to his heavy iron-bound front door, pushing it open just enough for me to wriggle inside.

"Why so many locks?" I asked.

"In my profession of Finding I've made a few enemies," Sherlock replied as he secured his door.

"Oh, dear," I sighed. I couldn't find myself as bothered at the thought of Elves being enemies as the Goblins, Wargs, Trolls and Giant Spiders I had encountered, which shows my lack of foresight.

As soon as I looked about me I felt a great weight of anxiety lift from my shoulders; for the room I stood in was as cozy as a Hobbit Hole, with a cheery fireplace and furniture with soft cushions that were threadbare yet clean and comfortable.

The walls were lined with shelves which were piled with books and scrolls - the detritus of Sherlock's Work - letters, clippings and papers where strewn over every desk and table or pinned to the mantelpiece by a wicked-looking dagger of Goblin-make.

Beyond the sitting room was an antechamber behind sliding doors with a large table filled with glass flasks and strange instruments which Sherlock informed me was his elaboratory or work-room. I was admonished Not To Touch Anything so I kept my hands behind my back. Down a hallway was the pantry and larder, a water closet (the Great Hall had a marvelous plumbing system) a storage room and a bed chamber.

"After a careful anatomical study I will ask you about the land where your folk live and their particulars," Sherlock said. "Hobbits, I've never heard of such a name. The Elves had the first naming of things, but _Periannath_ came along so much later and we were rather busy at the time. The legend rose first among Men of Halflings or as the Horse-Riders called them _Holbytla_."

Sherlock paced as he spoke his thoughts aloud, he neither looked to me nor asked me any questions, so I decided this must be a way for him to order his powerful brain.

The sound of his voice, low and melodic, began to lull me and the chair beside the fire looked oh-so-inviting after nights spent on stone floors.

The Elf took the pack from my hand and my tattered jacket to place them on the top of his work bench and said, "Take off your clothes."

I was that weary my only response was to yawn deeply.

"Come along," gesturing with his long pale hands in impatience, "there will be food and a bath for your trouble."

"That sounds lovely, thank you."

I began to undress, the Elf taking each item as I handed it over, muttering over various colours of soil and mould found in Mirkwood. As he walked back to his elaboratory I took advantage of the moment to crawl into his large cushy chair.

"Oh no, you don't!" Sherlock cried when he discovered I had curled up. He tugged at my arm. "You can't fall sleep now!"

"Can't be helped," I murmured, "... so tired."

"I could make a preliminary examination while you are asleep, I suppose."

"Do as you like," I flapped my hand in Sherlock's general direction and was out like a pinched candlewick.

 

***

This is how I came to find myself - once I woke and stretched my limbs - completely naked beneath a soft blanket. While I had slept Sherlock had hung my shirt, weskit, jacket, breeches and smallclothes (I blushed at the state of them) along a line, and I am sorry to say they were not drying from a much-needed wash, there were small pieces of paper covered in close Elvish writing attached to them with straight silver pins.

The contents of all of my pockets and my knapsack were arranged neatly on the worktable on pieces of paper which were numbered; among these items lay my short sword still in its sheath.

The Finder had exchanged his austere, tailored black garments for a loose shirt and trousers of soft fabric in dove grey and a long unbelted dressing gown of blue and he had rolled up his sleeves for working. His bare feet were long and pale and well-shaped and I considered it a shame he had no hair to cover them.

"Hello, what is the time?" I asked.

"It is quite early in the morning, if there were a window you'd find it's still dark outside. You slept through the afternoon and evening," Sherlock replied without turning around.

I was relieved to find that the magic ring had been placed on the arm of the chair within easy reach.

I left it where it lay and hopped down, wrapping the blanket around me to forestall a chill and walked over to the table.

"Whatever you are doing with my personal effects seems quite methodical."

"It is necessary to proceed with any inquiry in a logical manner. I must verify the facts," Sherlock replied.

He lifted the glass lens which he wore on a chain to my face, so that I could look through it. I could see the weave of my jacket magnified and what had appeared to be a small tear in the wool looked like a jagged chasm.

"See how the threads here are warped and torn, not cleanly cut; this rip was made by the fang of a Great Spider. Not to mention there is a spot of dried venom."

"I can tell you how I met the Great Spiders," I said.

"I cannot rely on the accuracy of your account." When I opened my mouth to protest, he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

"Not _you_ in particular, _anyone_ will choose words - whether they are aware of it or not - to make themselves seem heroic or sympathetic in a given situation, but the materials themselves," Sherlock gestured to my poor ragged clothes and meager supplies, "... cannot lie."

"Oh," I said, aware my eyes had become very round. "Is this careful collection of proofs how you go about Finding Things?"

"If were merely a matter of gathering evidence and the statements of witnesses, _Lestrade_ would have discovered you on his own. No, there are inexplicable and strange chains of events in Middle Earth, undiscovered Powers and cunning minds to contrive the most ingenious, pernicious, evil schemes you could imagine."

Sherlock's eyes blazed for a moment with a barely contained excitement before he allowed the magnifying glass he held in his fingers to drop on its chain and fall back against his breast.

"It takes a person of considerable intellect to solve these cases," he concluded.

I clapped my hands in delight. "Marvelous! How many Finders are there?"

Sherlock's chin lifted with obvious pride. "I'm the only one. There are Pretenders of course, but no one has ever been able to match my skill at deduction. Princes and Kings as well as Authorities of Various Kinds, seek my assistance."

"You mentioned cases," I ventured, "what did you mean by that?"

The Finder made one of his elegant sweeping gestures to his shelves stuffed to bursting.

"That is my own term for each puzzle I solve. I record the details and place the papers in leather slipcovers, so I refer to them as my cases."

"Ah," I replied, but was interrupted from further questions when my belly rumbled, _loudly_.

"Is there any breakfast? I would be happy to make you something. I'm a very good cook. Seed cakes are my specialty."

I was surprised at my own earnestness and the desire to be useful to this strange Elf, perhaps I had been too long away from a companion of any sort. At any rate, Sherlock seemed to be equally astonished, for he stopped his investigation to stare at me.

"It can't be less than four hours since you last had something to eat," Sherlock said, lifting the collar of my shirt where it hung from the rope so I would notice a spot of mustard.

I felt my cheeks glow with embarrassment.

"Hobbits will have six meals a day when they can get them."

Sherlock's expression became thoughtful. "Ah, I was calculating the quantity of the disappearing food by a Man's appetite - there's always something." The Elf turned back to his work table. "You may check the larder. Don't bother about me, I never take meals while I'm on a case; digestion slows down brainwork."

I am certain my features showed my dismay at this idea, but it did explain why Sherlock was so slender, even for an Elf.

Gathering my blanket around me I went down the hall to find the larder, setting out the dried meat, cheese, bread and apples I found on a tray; avoiding the various items in the cupboards that I could not identify.

Across the hall there was a sink with a pump and a small stove, its sides splashed with various liquids that had baked on. The copper kettle was clean enough, so I filled it with water and set it on the hob, poking at the coals in the grate to refresh the fire. I located tea leaves, and put them steep in the newly boiled water, deeply inhaling the green fragrance, which left me feeling refreshed.

When the tea was ready I padded out to the elaboratory to set a cup down beside Sherlock's elbow. He picked this up without a word of thanks, only making a soft considering hum. I went back to the chair to curl up and enjoy my meal.

 

TBC


End file.
